Gravity
by Raisins-and-Kleenex
Summary: For as hard as we try, as often as we seek to pull ourselves away from the earth, our past, and our looming future, we can never fly.


Through all the changes and turns of life, there are two things that we know will never change. One of them is the knowledge that we will eventually pass through this life, and continue on to either the glory that awaits us, or the nothingness that lies beyond. The second is that we are forever weighted to this Earth, connected to it with a bond that can be explained away with science, with the many calculations to determine why, determine how, determine where. But no matter what we do, as long as we are within the realms of this Earth, man cannot fly.

A child gazed at the stars, see how close they were! And so many, he felt as though if he reached up and took one, the world would not mind the difference. What's one star, more or less? And how far they flew, how free! He was young boy from the city, for the first time in a place where the light from the nearest building did not overwhelm these pinpoints of beauty, and the multitude of stars was unbelievable. But try as he might, as high as he jumped, as far as he tried to fly, the dirt beneath his feet always pulled him back to it, afraid to let him go, afraid he might float away forever. His angelic name did nothing to aid his attempt to reach heaven. And the stars stayed tauntingly out of reach, glittering like a multi-faceted jewel, as though reminding him of his inability to fly up and catch them.

Six years after the occurence with the stars, the child had nearly forgotten about them. The pull of the earth was now second nature to him, something he had long ago learned to live with, learned to compensate for. He jumped and hit the top of the doorway with his hand, as was his custom when entering his house. His one little rebellion against gravity.  
A motherly voice called him from the kitchen. "Gabriel, I want to talk with you."  
The boy sighed and landed his jump heavily. His feet dragged on the floor, reluctant to bring his face to the woman who called him, but they did so anyway. "Yeah, mom?"  
Mousy brown hair fluttered past an equally plain face, characterized by a frowning mouth. "Gabriel, I got a copy of your grades today."  
Though he knew what was coming, Gabriel attempted to divert her interest. "And look! My literature grade went up from a B to an A-. Just like you wanted."  
She shook her head impatiently, and pointed to the little B printed next to 'Biology'. "Do you mind explaining to me what that is?"  
He was annoyed. "It's a B, mom."  
"Right. Why is there a B on your report card?"  
He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, sighed, and stated in a monotone "Because I'm not trying hard enough, and I'm not being the best I can be."  
"Oh honey, you don't need to make it sound so forced. But I know that you can do better than this, I just know you can, Gabe."  
"Right. I'll keep that in mind next test Mom. When I'm deciding whether or not to put down the right answer, I'll remember that 'I can do better than this'. Thank's Mom. I'll be in my room."  
"Oh Gabriel, you know that's not what I--"  
But he was already out of the room. He spared a single, disgusted glance at the small, balding man bent intently over a small table covered in gears and mechanics. Gabriel Gray would never be a watchmaker. He would be someone special, someone his mother would be proud of.

Someone she couldn't find fault with.

* * *

Another six years later, he leaned against a concrete post as he waited outside of school. His foot pounded a never-ceasing rhythm on the concrete beneath, and a watch could be heard making its eternal, circular path. Small noises to one who was not listening, but he had been waiting for a while now. Every noise was clear.  
A bell rang from inside the building, and a few minutes later students poured out. His eyes scanned the crowd intently, searching every face, every toss of hair. Eventually they locked on a girl throwing back brown curls as she smiled at someone behind her. The waiting boy scowled.  
"I told you not to talk to him."  
She tossed her hair again, sighed, and rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You're not the boss of me."  
His scowl deepened. "I asked you to do one little thing, and you deliberately disobeyed me."  
"Gabe, you're out of school now. Am I just supposed to pine away the hours until I can see you again? Is that what you want me to do?" she asked him, sarcasm dripping from the words.  
"Don't use that tone of voice with me," he warned her. "It makes me feel stupid."  
She jerked her head in that odd way she had, when she wanted to start a fight. "Maybe that's because you _are_."  
"I said don't talk to me like that!" He struck her, his hand leaving a red print on her cheek.  
Almost as suddenly as he had hit her, his attitude reversed. "Oh, Mare, you know I didn't mean it like that."  
Her eyes were angry, her little mouth set in a firm line. "Then how did you mean it?"  
He didn't answer her question. "I know I've been so mean to you recently. I've been having some problems and home and I've been taking them out on you, and I am so, so, so sorry." His hand went to touch her cheek, but she knocked it down. He could distinctly feel the air fluttering between his fingers as they fell towards his side.  
"How did you mean it, Gabriel?"  
He didn't say anything, he just stood there. A single tear gathered at the corner of her eye. She wiped it away furiously. "You know what? It's over. I can't handle this anymore, Gabriel. We're done."  
Both arms when out this time, and rested on her shoulders. "Mary, you know I love you. It was just a moment of weakness. I'll make it up to you, I swear I will."  
She shrugged his heavy hands off, and turned away. "I said we're done, Gabriel. Go away."  
"Mare-"  
"Go away! You graduated a year ago, and you haven't done anything with your life! You just sit at home, tinkering with your little watches. You never come to any dances, but I'm not allowed to talk to _anyone_ besides you! Get a life, go to college, do _something_!"  
Every part of him felt heavy. _Timepieces_, he thought vehemently. _They're not watches, they're timepieces. If you're so stupid that you can't even tell the difference..._  
He walked away, back to the little apartment in the middle of the city, where he got the same speech from his mother, and he had to clear off the table of little cogs and gears before he could eat his sandwich. But such was the life.

* * *

Six more years passed. He became a watchmaker, like his father, and like his grandfather. One of his cousin's went to Harvard, which provided his mother with ample material to 'encourage' him with. But Gabriel stayed his course, and kept open the shop his family had owned for 50 years. And one night, an old man walked into his shop, and handed him a book.


End file.
